The Pendulum of Fear
by Tracy Diane Miller
Summary: This very short story is based on "The Fourth Carpathian".


The Pendulum of Fear  
  
Summary: This very short story, based on "The Fourth Carpathian", represents  
  
another writing challenge issued to me today by Janet. Janet wanted a story  
  
that would show what was going on in Gary's mind when he was trapped in that  
  
abandoned theater. The story that follows is my acceptance of her challenge  
  
and my interpretation of what I think Gary could have been thinking (and  
  
feeling).  
  
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No  
  
copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made. Some of the dialogue that appears in this story is not mine but belongs to the writer of the Early Edition episode "The Fourth Carpathian."  
  
Author's Notes: Special thanks to Janet who inspires me on a daily basis  
  
with her imagination, her talent, and her humor. And whose challenges  
  
constantly whet my creative juices and keep me on my toes (I hope! LOL.)  
  
Author: Tracy Diane Miller  
  
E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com  
  
  
  
The Pendulum of Fear  
  
  
  
Fear is a pendulum. It is never idle. Maybe out of boredom, it swings back  
  
and forth all the while instilling a false sense of comfort and control for  
  
its victim as it moves in the opposite direction of certainty before jumping  
  
back strong and vigilant towards uncertainty.  
  
Fear is unforgiving, merciless. It is often born out of childhood trauma  
  
and remains a silent companion throughout one's adulthood.  
  
Fear watches. It waits. It reacts. Fear is poised to attack at any time  
  
and at any place.  
  
The scaffold shook again like the warning tremor before an earthquake. Gary  
  
tried desperately to keep still as he lay there on his back terrified that  
  
even moving an inch would result in the scaffold disengaging from the  
  
ceiling and crashing down to the floor with him on it. His body ached  
  
from more then fatigue from the long hours he lay there sprawled on his back  
  
like one of those ancient statutes of an Egyptian pharaoh pulled on a  
  
mammoth cart by slaves before it was erected to glory over a magnificent  
  
tomb. His body ached from intense fear. He didn't want to die.  
  
Ever since he was a kid, he had been afraid of heights. Getting  
  
trapped in that tree house certainly hadn't helped matters, but at least Dad  
  
was there to provide comfort. Over the years, he had tried fighting his  
  
fear. In college, his fraternity brothers had suggested bungee jumping as  
  
the ultimate rush and as a means to shock his system out of his fears. But  
  
an unnatural free fall wasn't the "therapy" he had in mind. Still, he had  
  
done well in his estimation handling his fear of heights. He had even once  
  
spent a day helping a neighbor back home fix a leaky roof. And the paper  
  
had offered several challenges that forced him to cope with his fear of  
  
heights. He had found himself climbing out of apartment buildings and  
  
jumping on top of moving trucks as he ended up dangling precariously from  
  
the side of the truck to prevent it from crashing into a beam and derailing  
  
a train. These experiences triggered his childhood fear of heights and sent  
  
his heart into fitful palpitations. Yet, he had survived them.  
  
The scaffold shook again. He let out a pitiful cry of help to the abandoned  
  
structure, his voice resonating his fear, echoed off the edifice perhaps to  
  
be heard only by the ghosts that still remained there undetected. But those  
  
ghosts were silent, in words anyway. However, they still tormented him. He  
  
heard them, in every creak. Were they laughing at him, mocking him, and  
  
inviting him to join them in death? He couldn't tell. He smelled them as  
  
the building reeked of the odors of decay and abandonment. He felt them with  
  
their cold hands of death as day turned into night and darkness blanketed  
  
the room.  
  
His stomach answered him, though, growling insistently for the nourishment  
  
that it had been deprived of during these long hours. And his back answered  
  
him, screaming in pain from forced inertia. His muscles seemed in  
  
conference deciding whether atrophy would be a nobler punishment.  
  
He refused to move, but the scaffolding was impatient. It shook yet again. He  
  
found himself cursing that monkey. Mikey...the little rascal's name proved  
  
acidic on his tongue even as Gary's tongue cracked from thirst. He should have  
  
known that he was in for trouble when the story in the paper required that  
  
he rescue a monkey. Monkeys had caused him trouble ever since he was six  
  
years old and Mom took him to the zoo. He was observing the monkeys when  
  
one of the little critters somehow reached from the cage and grabbed Gary's  
  
cotton candy. A zoo official then yelled at Gary for disobeying the edict  
  
of "Don't Feed The Animals." He fought back his tears from the undeserved  
  
scolding. Mom's back was turned at the time so she didn't see the monkey's  
  
theft of the cotton candy, but she defended her son. And Gary...well, he  
  
could have sworn that the little felon was laughing at him as the monkey  
  
gorged on that wonderful cotton candy!  
  
And now Mikey...Mikey was like a defiant child. He had come there to rescue  
  
that monkey. He knew that Mikey heard his calls, but intentionally ignored  
  
him just as a child sometimes ignores a parent when he wants to assert his  
  
independence.  
  
"Meow!" The cat's cry was welcomed. The cry momentarily pacified the  
  
cobwebs in Gary's head that spoke of impending death. That cry was better  
  
than those silent, yet mocking ghosts.  
  
"Cat." Gary whimpered. "Cat, I could use some help here." Okay, he was  
  
placing his life in the paws of the feline, but he had no choice. Right now,  
  
the cat was the only cavalry for the hero.  
  
Later, Mom told him how he had been located. And he owed his life to Crumb  
  
and the acrobatic brothers.  
  
But Fear had not put up a white flag of surrender. The pendulum just swung in  
  
the opposite direction. For now.  
  
  
  
The End. 


End file.
